


Questions Answered While Questions Remain

by afteriwake



Series: Unexpected Legacies [1]
Category: Arthurian Mythology, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-19 00:53:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deciding to make the best of the situation he's fond himself in (being immortal and impervious to harm), Sherlock incorporates his developing skill set into his consulting detective business. But even as he gets some of his questions answered by (the supposedly fictional) Merlin, it still leaves him questioning exactly how he's supposed to do what the wizard wants him to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Questions Answered While Questions Remain

**Author's Note:**

> So I signed up for this wonderful challenge at Livejournal called **Spook Me** that I've done for quite a few years now. The way it works is people pick a spooky creature and are given two pictures to base fics off of. I signed up for Sherlock twice (with Ghosts and Witches/Wizards as my two creatures) plus I got two other prompts (Boogeyman and Disease) for a grand total of eight prompts. My goal is to base at least eight stories in this series on those prompts. The picture that inspired this story is [this artwork](http://s3.postimg.org/65hs746cz/12_worldfantasycon_1982_davidmattingly_zpscdc6b2.jpg) by Michael Whelan.

Before everything had changed in his world Sherlock Holmes had been a regular consulting detective, the only one in the world. He'd worked with Scotland Yard and solved murders and been quite good at it. John Watson had helped, and so had other people he was friends with, like Greg Lestrade and Molly Hooper. They'd done quite a bit of good for London, or at least John had thought so. But that had been before The Incident, as Sherlock insisted on calling it. Sherlock had gone on the roof to confront a criminal mastermind, and as far as anyone knew he had been a completely normal man.

By the time he fell off the roof, however, he wasn't.

John had watched him fall. He'd been a bit far away, yes, but he had seen with his own two eyes that Sherlock had jumped. For all intents and purposes Sherlock Holmes should have been dead on impact. Every single one of his bones should have been shattered, there should have been blood all over the ground. He got to where Sherlock had landed and saw Sherlock on the ground. And much to his shock, much to _everyone's_ shock, Sherlock sat up. He talked. He got back on his feet and grabbed John's phone and called to warn Lestrade there was a sniper trained on him and then he got in a cab, headed straight back home and dispatched an assassin who was about to kill Mrs. Hudson. And then he had asked for tea.

No one knew why he was still alive. He had absolutely no injuries from the fall. Once he got home he experimented on himself. He swallowed any number of poisons. He made a noose and hung himself. He even shot himself in the head, or at least _tried_ to; the bullet didn't even break the skin. And no matter what, he didn't die. He only stopped when Mrs. Hudson passed out, white as a sheet, and then he called his brother. His brother had informed him the press was having a field day with how a man could fall that far, land on the pavement and then get up without a scratch on him. He also said Sherlock was going to be taken somewhere for testing and there was nothing Mycroft could do to stop that.

Sherlock had allowed himself to be subjected for testing until he got annoyed with the researchers and their increasingly macabre ways to kill him. All Sherlock would say when asked about it was he put his foot down after they had attempted to behead him. At that point he realized that if anything was going to actually kill him it would have done so by now. The scientists had protested and they pushed for him to be quarantined for further evaluation. The government agreed. Sherlock had threatened to reveal every single secret that had been on Irene Adler's phone to the press, and when the government official who had been observing scoffed that he could access them he went to a computer, keyed in commands for a half hour and pulled up the incriminating set of photos he had been sent to fetch all that time ago, among other things. Sherlock said if he wasn't allowed to walk out of that building a free man with only his brother's surveillance intact he would send everything to the press.

He was released immediately.

It wasn't until he'd gotten home that John realized more had happened than Sherlock being invulnerable. The scientists had seen it all, of course, and that was why they had strongly suggested quarantine. Sherlock was something beyond human now, and people had been scared. Not that they had any reason to be; Sherlock had insisted on going back to his old life as much as possible, with a few differences. When John had walked in on Sherlock staring at a ball of flame in his hand that he made disappear by closing his hand he'd been shocked. When he'd come home with Lestrade in tow and they'd heard Sherlock talking to someone who wasn't in the room and drawers banged in response he was concerned. When Sherlock managed to predict everything that was going to happen to Molly one day, right down to an exact conversation she was going to have with the head of her department, however, the weirdness had stopped bothering him. Whatever it was that had changed Sherlock had done a pretty big number on him, and he told everyone involved in his life to accept it or stop being a part of his life. And, surprisingly, after a while everyone accepted it.

It had taken Sherlock less time to fully accept that he was irrevocably different than the others, and he had decided to put his skills to use. It had not taken him very long to find the evidence to prove he was not a fraud like Moriarty had claimed. Lestrade had not asked how he had come to know certain bits of information but he took Sherlock at his word, and when the results of the investigation were made public it was backed up by solid police work from Scotland Yard. Once that was behind him, he went back to work, accepting any case the public or Scotland Yard could throw at him, including what he deemed the “weird ones.” These new skills put Sherlock on a path most people who knew him well were fairly sure he had never anticipated before, but the grand majority of the time Sherlock seemed content enough melding his skills as a consulting detective with his newfound powers. Today, however, was an exception.

“I'm bored,” Sherlock said in a huff after he finally stopped pacing. He'd been pacing for twenty minutes and John had been quite close to wringing his neck.

“And just why are you bored?” John asked his flatmate, who had flopped down on the sofa in his pyjamas and dressing gown almost as soon as he had spoken. “You have three cases to look at. They all looked fairly interesting to me.”

“Something that lives under the bed, child abductions by a black hooded figure and a supposed nasty witch?” Sherlock Holmes asked, tilting his head to look at John. “I want a murder. A nice, complicated murder.”

“But you've agreed to take any case,” he pointed out.

“But I want a _murder_. I don't get those as often anymore.” He turned his head back and shut his eyes. “Until then? Bored.”

John shook his head. When Sherlock got in a mood he could be utterly impossible. He was about to say more when he heard a knock at the door. He watched Sherlock perk up slightly. There was only one person they knew who knocked as opposed to ringing the bell. “Molly's here,” John said with a grin.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I realize that,” he said, getting off the sofa.

He made his way down to the front door, and about five minutes later he came in carrying a large paper sack. Molly came in behind him with another one. “I thought you might not want to cook tonight,” she said, giving John a smile.

“Any night I don't need to cook is a good one,” John said with a smile in return, moving his laptop off of his lap. “Did you bring enough for you?”

“I did,” she said with a nod. Then she glanced over at Sherlock, who had stood stock still. Finally she looked where he was looking and her eyes widened. John looked over as well. “I think you have a visitor. Other than me, I mean.”

All three of them were staring at the man sitting on the chair at the table. He had on a brown robe with a hood, a necklace of some sort that looked like three large circles made of gold lacework and a belt with a skull on it. In one hand he had a large staff and in the other he had a can of cola. There was an open bag of crisps and an empty can of cola by his feet. He took the cola in his hand and took a long drink of it before setting it on the table. After a moment Sherlock finally let out a sigh. “And I suppose you have a case for me as well?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I don't,” the man said. “But you shouldn't be ignoring the ones you _do_ have. They've been given to you for a reason.”

“And just what reason is that?” Sherlock asked, more curious than exasperated.

He leaned his staff against the table and then leaned over and picked up the bag of crisps, setting them on the table before taking one out. “What was intended as a curse has become more than that,” the man said. 

“Wait a moment. What happened to Sherlock was a curse?” John asked, his jaw hanging down slightly.

The man in the robe nodded, and then he ate the crisp in his hand. “You have a very powerful enemy,” the man said, using the can of cola to point to Sherlock. “Someone tried to pull Moriarty's strings once he put that plot to discredit you into play, but it didn't work out the way it was planned. They aren't pleased with that. When you jumped off that roof and landed on the pavement below, for a brief moment you died.”

“Yes. I remember,” Sherlock said quietly. “And I came back.”

He took out another crisp from the bag and used it to point at Sherlock. “And then the curse was activated. But the puppet master didn't count on a few things. You're turning it into a blessing, and that's not what he wanted. You're using your new skills to solve cases of all stripes. The 'weird ones,' as you call them, are all from other people who are being harassed by the being that cursed you. Every time you solve one of those cases, you take away some of his power. Take away enough of his power and you might just be able to go back to normal.” He paused. “Well, mostly back to normal. After all, curses take power, and if the person who placed the curse doesn't have power...”

“Then the things he did with that power fall apart?” Molly said tentatively.

The man in the robe smiled at her before eating the crisp. “She's someone you need to keep close, Sherlock. Yes, Molly, that's what happens. But he has a lot of power, and it will take solving a lot of those cases to make enough of a dent.”

“How did you know her name?” John asked.

“I know more about Sherlock and those that he holds close then you could possibly imagine. He's going to do something spectacular, and I'm going to guide him,” the man said.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You don't. But you will.” He stood up, then leaned over and picked up the can of cola. “You know, in the entire time I've been alive I've realized this era has all the best food and drinks. Crisps and cola are my favorites.”

“Just how old are you?” Molly asked.

“Very old,” he said, setting the can and the crisps on the table. “I had to give a certain king a certain sword, after all.”

“You can't _possibly_ be Merlin,” Sherlock said. “It's a legend. Nothing more than a story.”

“And every legend has a grain of truth,” Merlin said. “It just so happens that the entire legend is true. I made sure that the other side didn't water down the truth to make themselves appear better.” He moved over to Sherlock. “You have gifts. Use them to chip away at the power of the Dark One and, if you're lucky, you'll be able to die like a normal person. You'll get to have a life where you don't have to watch everyone you love wither away and become dust like I did.” He moved over to Sherlock. “I will see you soon, Sherlock. You still need lessons in how to control your gifts, and there's no one better to teach you than someone else who has them.”

“Wait a moment,” Sherlock said. “What, exactly, am I now?”

“Well, you're a wizard, a descendant of my line. That's why the curse didn't do what the Dark One wanted it to do. The curse gave you eternal life and immortality, that's true, but it also woke up latent powers in you. I'd been following all of my descendants, just waiting for something like this to happen.”

“Why did this Dark One want to curse me with that?” Sherlock asked.

“Moriarty wanted you to suffer so he made a deal with the Dark One. Your friends were all supposed to die that day and no matter what you did, whether you jumped or not, you were going to have to live forever knowing you had failed them. But Moriarty didn't realize that the person who he put in charge of killing your friends was going to be completely dumbfounded by what he saw happen, and with Moriarty dead no one was able to enact a new plan. For a supposed criminal mastermind he was actually an idiot.”

“I don't think I'd disagree with that,” John said thoughtfully.

“Well, the curse worked beautifully, and now the being who cursed you regrets doing so. You have powers and they weren't counting on that.” Merlin came over and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder with his free hand. “Solve the cases you have now. Remember that each one of his agents you take out means he loses more power, and when he loses enough power you have a chance to have a more normal life.”

“But--” Sherlock began, but just as the first word was out of his mouth Merlin was gone. He stared at where the man had been standing for a moment and then shook his head, stalking to the table and putting the bag of food Molly had bought down on the bag of crisps hard. “A wizard? I can't be a wizard,” he said, sitting down in the chair Merlin had been sitting in.

“Sherlock, you have quite a few powers you couldn't explain. And everyone knows you've tried,” Molly said gently, moving closer to him. She set the food she had been carrying on the table. “Being a wizard is as good an explanation as anything else you've thought of.”

He looked at Molly and John. “If either of you make a remark about Harry Potter I will make your life exceedingly unpleasant.”

John cracked a grin. “Now you're taking all the fun out of my evening.”

Sherlock glared at him and then sighed. “If what he's saying is true, not that I entirely believe it...but if it's true, I suppose I need to start working on those cases you said were so interesting, John.”

“Well, at least it will give you something to do,” John said, going into the kitchen for plates and silverware.

“I'll help,” Molly said. “If you want.”

“I would like that very much,” he said with a nod, looking up at her. She gave him a smile and he faintly grinned back before she took the two bags of food into the kitchen. After a moment Sherlock stood up and joined the three of them. “All right. Let's start with the one where there's supposedly something living under the bed...”


End file.
